Some Things Are Easier Said Than Done
by LoonyLoopyLupin96
Summary: Full title: Some Things Are Easier Said Than Done But Once They're Done, Things Could Only Get Better. In which Remus visits Madame Pomfrey - the Hogwarts nurse/psychiatrist.


Full Title: Some Things Are Easier Said Than Done But Once They're Done, Things Could Only Get Better

A/N: I hate to think of Remus this way, but...I just had to. Just this once, I hope: I prefer to think of him as a much better fighter, even through the loneliness - my little fighting friend :')

I don't know how this is going to come out; it's late, I'm tired, and I only have one reason for writing it... A review would be interesting, but I'm not expecting one :)

Warning: Brief mentions of an eating disorder and suicide - brief, but...even so.

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'The worst disease known to man is loneliness.'

"But lycanthropy isn't far behind," Remus mutters to himself as he reads the quote in the book. He was sitting in the Hogwarts library; his safe haven away from the noise and hustle of the school.

"Erm..."

He looks up, as the voice sounds from beside him, to see a burly sixth year Ravenclaw.

An awkward smile plays on Remus' lips as he waits for her to say something.

"A message from Madame Pomfrey; 'half an hour,'" she quotes, clearly having not understood a word of it.

"Oh," Remus sighs, his face dropping slightly. Fidgeting movement in his periphery causes him to remember the girl's presence.

"Thank you," he mutters politely, before walking past and heading to the hospital wing.

On his way, thoughts play through his mind; he tries to conjure an answer or the question he's sure to be asked by Madame Pomfrey; she'd been his shrink since he'd started the school seven months ago: a lonely, guarded werewolf whomever seemed to let anyone near him.

"Would you like a drink?" he was asked almost as soon as he had walked in the door.

"A water will be fine, thanks," he answers, knowing full well that if he said no she would think he was back on his 'anxiety diet' as the muggle nurse had called it.

"Come on in," she smiles to him, as though she was happy to see him. The truth was, she'd longed for him to make friends, and that he would dare to confide in someone other than her; it pained her to see the young boy with the world upon his sunken shoulders each week.

With little more than a nod, he took his usual seat in the corner opposite the door.

"So, have you made any progress with what we discussed last week?" she asked him, filing through the notes in front of her.

"Which part?" he asked, though he knew the answer; he just seemed to try to avoid having to say too much to her.

"Well, the part about friends, first. Have you spoken to anyone at all?"

"I don't know," he shrugged.

"Okay," she commented, making a note; another habit of Remus' had been a simple 'I don't know' after everything. It seemed to her as though it was his way of, again, not having to truly open his mind and heart.

"I lent someone my notes."

If she hasn't have been watching him, Madame Pomfrey would have missed the words.

"Do you have the notes now?"

"...Yes."

Another habit of his had, of course, been his trust issues. It was clear to see that he didn't like admitting he had got his notes back in one piece.

"Very good," she smiled again, receiving an absolutely fake smile in return.

"And what about friends, is there any progress there?" she asked, feeling mildly hopeful although her face remained neutral and impassive.

The rods had barely left her mouth before Remus was found to be shaking his head.

"Definitely not," he answered robotically; a look of almost disgust on his face.

"And why's that?" she prompted him.

Rather than try to voice the thousands of thoughts whirring through his mind, Remus shrugged.

The two of them remained silent; Madame Pomfrey making notes, and Remus picking at the sole on his shoes.

"There's no point - well, there is, because it would be nice to talk to someone my age about anything other than issues, but no," a look of disgust passed over Remus' features, "Forget it."

Picking up on the key aspect, a realisation dawned on Madame Pomfrey, though she made a note (both mental and literal) to ask it again later.

"What would you like to talk to friends about?" she asked him, trying to put a curious note into her voice to sound a little less imposing.

Again, however, Remus shrugged, "I don't know."

Madame Pomfrey continued to watch him; gentle hazel eyes assessing his every fraction of movement.

A bored chuckle escaped Remus' lips; almost, but not quite, hysterical.

"I mean, of course I know," the laughter ebbed away, "But no, I don't know."

Madame Pomfrey smiled, "No, go on. Would you prefer to talk about school work and magic, or..." she let the question trail off openly.

Shrugging, Remus threw odd answers out.

"Useless spells, which we learn for the fun of it."

Madame Pomfrey nodded, genuinely interested, "Such as..."

"I'm not sure."

She looked at him sceptically.

"Genuinely - unsure," he added; a wry smile on his face.

Accepting this as truth, she nodded.

"Or someone do study with; someone who I wouldn't mind lending my notes to."

"That-"

"Without fearing them not coming back in one piece," he added as an afterthought.

"Is there anything else? What about something personal?" she prompted, rounding to her other thought.

"Well..."

Remus' thoughts trailed off, as he lost himself in the imagery; him, laughing and joking as he quoted a book along with someone. Or a very lose friend, there when he most needed them - someone who didn't betray his trust...

"Someone to talk to about...life, I guess."

Madame Pomfrey nodded, "Do you still mean school life, or otherwise?"

"Just...life. Like...if I didn't want to..." he scratched his head to obscure his face, "live, anymore...I not know, just one one who might care enough to help."

From then, he didn't even dare look back at her.

"Don't you think your parents would care enough to help?"

"They'd feel like they had to, I know. I've heard them going on about things. But...it isn't fair on them; they're not the ones who need to get hurt over this. No one does, I'll just...settle for my teddy."

The last line was a common thing or Remus; his best friend was always his teddy - a black dog - which was why he finished with a dry chuckle.

"It doesn't matter, I don't want friends."

Who was he trying to convince?

"We'll, you see, you say that yet you did manage to say why you want a friend, didn't you? Even if you not think it will happen."

Remus shrugged again.

"I can't let it happen."

"Remus..."

Madame Pomfrey gave her common little cough; the sound hitch meant a serious question was coming.

"Do you want to kill yourself because you feel lonely?"

Silence gnawed at the room; getting through the ventilation, into each crack in the paint.

"I don't know."

He answered in a small voice, not sparing a thought to the tears pricking his eyes.

"I mean, I know it's upsetting for you, I can see it, but..."

Remus could only shrug again; he was too close to the tears running from his eyes.

Blinking a couple of times, he said, "I don't know. I mean, I've still got my teddy."

Though she isn't sense the humour, she saw to Remus' unease, and she laughed politely.

"Why don't up you depend on your humour to get you some friends?"

"I was being serious..."

She laughed again slightly, adding, "Speaking of serious, though, what about your dorm friends?"

"I don't even know their names. Besides, when they find out the truth... It's not worth it."

"The truth being...?"

"That I'm a suicidal werewolf, who depends more on a teddy than anything else."

Madame Pomfrey left the room quiet for a moment.

"They don't need to know anything like that right away; just get to know them, perhaps..."

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Madame Pomfrey didn't see Remus for another four years, until the summer following 'the prank'... It left Remus wondering, was he right to have trusted the group he called his friends at all?

"Happiness should be a journey, not a destination." - Ben Sweetland

"How can people trust the harvest unless they've seen it sown?" - Mary Renault

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Note to a specific person; it would be nice for me to believe you'd read this, even if there are mistakes in the grammar of structure. Show me you do know how to look past mistakes after all.

Do you even realise what you've done?

"Now I'm writing just to let you know I'm still alive..." -Good Charlotte


End file.
